I'm chasing fears
Out of the dark
Corners
They are trying
To hide
In,
But the dang
Little buggers
Use the
Shadows
Like portals
And go from
One to another
Like some
Secret
Teleportation
System.
I wish
I knew
Their technology
So I could
Sell it!
Stone deer
Lay up against
The wall
Of gold granite
Flecked art
In a world
That never
Wonders
Why
They never
Move on
To greener
Fields.
How does
A snowman
Think he
Can hide
In a
Potted plant?
I don't know
That my questions
Matter,
Or how
She manages
To post something
Literally every minute
In the last hour!
Has she
Been hijacked?
Or has
God taken over
Her mind
By some
Substance
To create
An artificial
Connection?
I don't care
How many pictures
There are
Of two girls
Kissing.
I can tell
Which ones
Are for the
Camera and attention,
And which
Are resentfully given,
And which ones
Are posed,
Or are only
Because
They are drunk
Or high…
The ones
I am always
Looking for
Amongst them
Are the ones
Where the
Kisses
Are real,
And genuinely
Felt…
They melt
My heart.
This is about
Process
Not product.
We are chasing
The Muse
And playing
In her
Dreams.
No one
Ever said
That dreams
Had to make
Sense afterwards,
Only at the time,
Does some
Dream logic
Apply.
I want
History to
Repeat itself
And have
A pageant girl
Become
The next
Wonder Woman.
Colored plastic
Geometric shapes
Covered in
Numbers
Roll out the fate
Of others
Lives across
Worlds we have
Only dared
To imagine
In rooms where
Smelly teenage
Boys dare
To do things
They cower
To do
Themselves.
I cannot
Hear you speak
Without knowing
What I know,
And it
Has forever changed
How I will
Hear you.
I wish
I was
A superhero,
But I'll have to settle
For being
Me.
I want
To inspire you
And them,
Him and her,
Us,
And
Everyone else,
But
I have no
Control
Over
Anyone
But me.
Golden hills
Flowing over
Purple fields
And broken fears
Raised up
On silver lined
Clouds,
Teaming with
Rainbow lightning
Across the sky
Of my eyelids,
Where no one
But the herds
Of white buffalos
Will see
The display
For the gods
Of imagination.
And for now
You are just
Going to
Have to settle
With this
For a poem,
Because
Consciousness
Isn't as
Organized
As the world
Would wish
It.
Thank Goddess!
It's a process,
And we
Are just
Lucky
If
The product
Happens
To make
Us happy
To boot.
